


Everytime I Crash Down

by Amurtinyburr12



Series: Stranded Verse [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Desert Island, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, JayDick Summer Exchange, M/M, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-14 03:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15379770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amurtinyburr12/pseuds/Amurtinyburr12
Summary: It's your typical, not so typical, stuck on an island situation. After a catastrophic plane crash during a mission, Dick is left with amnesia and a morally dubious brother.How do Jason and Dick survive on the island? What becomes of their relationship?





	Everytime I Crash Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nottak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nottak/gifts).



Dick's mouth is dry and uncomfortably salty.

His head is throbbing like a bitch.

Concussion? Seems likely.

It takes some work to peel his eyes open; the first alarming sign that something isn’t quite right.

It’s bright as hell here - wherever _here_ is. There’s really only one thing he can be certain of, and it’s that this place is very obviously not Gotham. The dark city might as well be the polar opposite of hot or humid.

Confused and disoriented, it takes Dick some time to realize he’s lying flat on his back. Sharp pebbles are digging painfully into his back and above him, he can feel harsh sunlight radiating down from a cloudless blue sky. The blinding rays stream past trunks of palm trees and brightly colored birds. A mockery of unhelpful cool air whispers into his damp hair and shifts strands of brown over his eyes.

_Palm trees?_

Dick shoots up into a sitting position, panicked and more than a little horrified. His vision tilts dangerously as soon as he comes up and his ribs grind in protest. Hissing through his teeth, Dick lifts a shaking hand to his head and runs it gingerly along his hairline until he comes into contact with a large bump. When he returns his palm back to his line of vision, it’s speckled with dried blood.

The sight is nauseating and somewhat concerning but it doesn't appear to be super urgent. A quick inspection of the rest of himself reveals that he’s still in full Nightwing attire. That’s a little surprising but, somewhat reassuring since it rules out a few scenarios of how he could have gotten here.

 _Ribs are aching,_ Dick notes, cataloging everything for later. They don't seem too badly aggravated. Not broken, with any luck.

A knot of unease is beginning to settle deep into the pit of his stomach so Dick diverts his attention to the unfamiliar landscape around him.

Crystal blue water laps continually against eroded rock and sand. Tiny brown crabs scurry out from equally small holes in the sand, rushing for shelter from an unrelenting tide. A tilt of the head confirms that a few yards behind him, the barren shoreline gives way to a dense green jungle of palm trees, vines and tropical plants.

It’s an island, by any definition.

But which island, and where?

Dick tries to remain calm as he glances back toward the ocean, doing his best to distract himself from the fact that he doesn’t see a boat anywhere nor is there a sign of any other land in the distance. There's nothing but a rippling blanket of seemingly endless blue.

_Oh God._

Why can’t he remember how he got here?

He doesn’t quite notice that his breathing has increased and his heart is palpitating until a familiar voice cuts in:

“Woah, calm down Goldie. Breathe slow, okay?”

Dick whips his head to the left, in the direction of the voice, taken aback. How had he not noticed someone else was with him?

This concussion must be worse than he’d initially thought.

The owner of the voice is leaning nonchalantly against a collection of over sized boulders clad in a black t-shirt and equally dark form fitting pants that are pulled even tighter by a silver belt. Beneath the belt are two thigh holsters, each home to a collection of Batarangs and pistols. Their brown leather biker jacket is draped over a smaller boulder along with a pair of gloves. In the person’s hands, a small double edged blade is being slid along the length of a smaller rock in quick sharp motions.

“Jason,” Dick sighs in relief, senses slowly returning back to the solidity of earth. There’s an abnormal aura enveloping Jason that Dick can’t quite pinpoint. Something about his composure seems forced and his eyes are red rimmed like he’s recently been crying.

After a few moments, Dick calms his breathing down enough to ask: “What happened?”

Jason pauses in his task, one eyebrow cocked in either dismay or annoyance. Both are likely. When he speaks his voice is husky from disuse. “You don’t remember?”

“Should I?”

There’s a moment of silence as Jason apparently tries to figure out what to tell the other. There’s a strange twisted expression on his face that seems out of place on his usually handsome features, like he’s at war with himself.

Finally, he shrugs, albeit stiffly. “Simple recon stealth mission. B asked us to check out a gang running grade A weapons through the upper basin of the Amazon. Oracle suggested they might be developing something on the, uh, nuclear level.”

Okay, a stealth op in the Amazon with the Red Hood. That explains the island.

“So, we’re...what? Sitting on a beach waiting for an invitation to go in? Where’s their base?” Dick turns back toward the jungle, squinting and thinking he might be able to make out some sort of threatening tower now that he knows what to look for.

“No,” Jason growls irritably. He scrapes his combat knife against the makeshift wet stone again, this time more aggressively. “The base was abandoned. They must have been alerted we were coming or...maybe they set this place up as a decoy in case anyone came to shut them down. There were several traps that I barely managed to avoid.” There’s an impending weight over Jason, a dark cloud which promises that whatever he says next will be incredibly painful.

“What? What is it?” Dick asks, apprehension clear in his voice.

“We...we’d just reported to Bruce that the place was empty. And as we were taking off, the alarms started blaring that the controls malfunctioned,” The words are stilted, as if Jason’s being selective about what he says. “We tried to fix it but ended up nosediving. When we crashed we lost the plane along with everything in it, my favorite helmet included. And speaking of helmets, you somehow managed to hit your head.”

As he speaks, Dick traces the tension in Jason’s shoulders then moves his gaze towards the other man’s face, studying it with concern. Interestingly enough, Jason won’t meet Dick’s eyes, instead completely focused on his knife and the way the light reflects off it.

“Oh.”

There’s something Jason is leaving out - Dick is certain of it. Whatever it is, he’s both angry and upset over it.

_Shrnk. Shrnk._

Jason’s continues to move his blade down the rock, the action steadily getting choppier and less controlled.

Dick looks helplessly down at his hands, one of which has a deep cut running in a slight curve from his thumb to his wrist that appears to be fresh. A disturbing, half formed thought comes to mind and he doesn’t want to assume...but no…

Lifting up his hand, he narrows his eyes at the injury before stealing a quick look at the small dagger in Jason’s grip.

The bend of the blade is the same.

Before that thought has an opportunity to go further, Jason gestures toward rocky portion of the beach in the distance, though it’s partially obscured by palm trees. “The plane went down by those cliffs but there’s no way in hell we’ll be able to fix that wreck. It's possible that we could salvage the shell of one of the damaged communicators and call for help but in order to get parts that aren't lost or soaked…”

“We’ll have to go to the base again.” Dick finishes, rolling the plan over in his mind like play dough.

Jason shakes his head as he grabs his jacket off the boulder, then crouches. He turns and begins to fill his pockets with a few heavy rocks, ass facing the other man. Dick would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying the new view.

“Not _we_ , Goldie. I have to go to the base again. There’s no way I’m letting you go into that booby trapped hell hole in your condition.”

“My condition?” Dick frowns, not yet angry but growing close to it. He pushes himself onto unsteady feet to prove he’s fine - and the world tilts menacingly a few degrees to the left. The pounding in his head swells louder for a moment and Dick waits for it to subside before trying to piece together what Jason’s saying even though he’s returned to a position that faces him.

“...you can’t actually be serious.” Are the words he can clearly understand, accompanied with a raised eyebrow. “You’re concussed, no doubt and you have amnesia. It’ll be faster if I go alone.”

Dick knows that logically, of course Jason is right. He’s not going to be much help when he can’t even stand up without feeling the urge to puke.

However, the less compliant side of him can’t allow Jason to go alone. One, because he would never be able to live with himself if Jason didn’t come back and second, a less honorable thought, he’s not sure he can fully trust him.

It brings him no comfort in doubting someone he's begun to feel close to in recent months. Jason's kill count was on the decline, Dick didn't need to try to arrest him anymore and amends with Bruce were on the horizon. Hell, him being on a mission with Dick was a display of trust from Bruce, if he'd ever seen one.

And yet, now Jason’s obviously hiding something about the plane crash, or earlier events of the mission. What reason could he possibly have to do that?

 _What would Batman do?_ The thought repulses him slightly, mainly because he'd always felt pressured from the looming weight of the cowl. He'd always assumed people would want him to become take up the mantle of Batman next but if anyone _really_ knew him, then they'd know he could never do what Bruce does.

He’s just not that person. He can’t be the man that abandons everything and everyone else for the sake of the mission.

Still, the mindset offers helpful advice once in awhile. The Bat instilled part of him is aware it wouldn’t be wise of him to let Jason wander off. He needs to be able to monitor him but the other side of him, the Dick Grayson personality, just feels abhorrently sick.

 _This is Jay you’re talking about_ , something inside Dick insists. _He’s different - he’s not a bad guy._

“Stop it,” Dick pushes out with a little more force than necessary. He's not completely certain if he’s talking to himself or Jason at this point. Drawing an escrima from beneath his left shoulder blade, he rises with catlike grace to his feet. “I’m going with you. We stick together.”

Jason’s expression looks far too pained for someone whose only concern is Dick’s safety. “Fine,” he eventually grits out, forehead creased. “But I'm taking point. Stay behind me and do what I tell you.”

Normally, Dick would put up a bit of a fight at the prospect of following orders but he can agree that his own judgement may be compromised in this environment. He brushes some sand from his uniform, hiding his expression from Jason.

Maybe he’s wrong about this whole situation and it’s all been a combination of his overactive imagination and concussion. Maybe he _can_ trust him.

“Copy that, Little Wing. Lead the way.”

* * *

 It’s insulting.

That’s pretty much all that there is to it.

Dick isn’t quite as prideful or haughty as the rest of his vigilante family but that doesn’t mean this whole situation isn’t humiliating as hell.

Still, he was the one that asked to come along so there’s really no one to blame but himself.

Thankfully, Jason hasn’t said anything about the ungodly amount of breaks Dick’s been taking in shameful silence. They’ve only hiked for a little under four miles but it feels more like forty, especially under the blazing heat of the sun and trekking up a slight incline.

Everytime Jason notices the other man slowing he makes up an excuse to stop. The first time it was somewhat believable. “Hold on, I need to take stock of my bullets.”

The second, was completely absurd. “These plants are some of the most exotic in the world. Can we stop for a second? It’s a once in a lifetime chance to admire these.” Dick probably would have bought that if they hadn’t been trudging past the exact same plants the entire time.

And the third was something along the lines of, “I think I see a snake up there. Stay here while I go check it out.” That one may have actually been true because Jason had returned with an uneasy expression and beckoned Dick to follow in a wide curve around the area.

Dick hates to share any character traits with a whiny teenager but he doesn’t know if he can go any longer. Not with his killer headache and worrying blurry dots that are swimming in front of his eyes. “How much further, Jay? Please tell me we’re close.”

Jason pauses to look back at him, expression carefully neutral. He’s sweating too and that makes Dick feel a little better. “Not far, I promise. Once we’re up this ridge you’ll be able to see the base.”

True to his word, the abandoned base turns out to be less than a quarter mile from that point. Dick tries not to reveal too much of the enthusiasm on his face when he leans against a palm tree, just outside the giant double doors.

It’s not a very large building, though it’s built like a medieval castle with it various cobble stoned towers and a dark brooding exterior.

Jason asks him, again, if he wants to wait outside but Dick, less assertively this time, refuses.

The inside of the abandoned hideout is dingy and cold, as expected. Cobwebs and dust litter black corners and the faint squeak of mice can be heard echoing down long hallways. The castle like features aren’t your typical bad guy headquarters, probably because the shithole was never a gang's base. _Assholes._

“Wait,” Jason puts a hand up against Dick’s chest as they start to round their second hallway.

Dick obediently halts, taking a few small breaths through his nose as he discreetly attempts to clear his head a little. And so what if he rests one of his arms against the wall to keep his balance?

Jason removes one of the heavier stones from his pockets before bending his knees and squatting low to the dirt covered floor. With a precise toss, he throws the stone ahead of them onto a crumbling section of bricks. Instantly, a sharp metal contraption falls from the ceiling, looking something like half of a giant bear trap. A plume of dust erupts from the crash, causing the two boys to cough as it fills the air.

“Damn,” Dick whistles, as soon as he’s done choking. “They have something here they want to hide?”

Jason grabs Dick’s hand, it’s warm and soft, and pulls him along the side of the wall, away from the fallen trap. “I don’t know, Dickie, maybe. That or it’s just convenient to kill people who might go searching for their actual base.”

Once they’ve gone around, Jason scans the area as if his life depends on it. “Dammit,” he mutters under his breath. “Left or right?”

“Can’t we try both?” Dick interjects, confused on what the problem is. “We’re bound to find more if we look in several places.”

A fleeting shadow passes over Jason’s face and for a single moment he appears ready to break down. It’s gone so quickly though that Dick wonders if it happened it at all.

“You’re right,” Jason confirms, retrieving his double edged knife from it’s hidden back pocket. “We need to be careful, though. While this place is abandoned there could be animals or...other things.”

Dick tries not to notice that he hasn’t seen Jason touch his gun the entire time he’s been awake but it’s hard not to. Jason’s primary weapon choice is always a gun - they’re practically his children. Watching him go for a small dagger...that’s very out of character.

* * *

 Finding the correct supplies takes a lot longer than expected. Dick does his best to look for anything that looks like tech or bolts they can use, but his limbs feel more and more sluggish as time drags on and his migraine is beginning to become unbearable. Avoiding traps becomes its own special kind of hell and inevitably, makes him even more sluggish.

Jason ends up finding 95% of what they can use, though he doesn’t seem upset that Dick’s moving so slowly. Usually, he’d be ribbing the other vigilante for not doing enough, or at least teasing him for tripping down one of the staircases. It’s just another off putting element that Dick's forced to file away into its own mental drawer for dissection when he's not incapacitated.

At one point, Dick had been about to go into a shadow infested underground cellar when Jason called for him to come back.

“I already checked in there,” he’d said in a rush, walking briskly up to the other. “There’s nothing.”

The urgency in his voice hadn’t matched the reason and again Dick was left feeling suspicious. But with Jason’s piercing gaze on him, he couldn’t go into the room.

In fact, it was almost even more strange that Jason had stood by the doorway, like a guard, until Dick plodded away.

* * *

 It’s only when they’re back outside, sitting under the shade of a palm tree, with an abundance of coconuts at their feet, that it all begins to fall in place.

Jason’s jacket is off, the supplies wrapped in it, leaving toned forearms for Dick to appreciate. Sometimes, Dick forgets how much Jason has grown since his days as Robin. He really has become his own man, and not an unattractive one at that.

For a few minutes, as they sit in peaceful silence, Dick can almost pretend that they’re just on vacation, happily spending time with one another in a tropical paradise.

The image is ruined however, when Jason draws his knife again and begins cutting at the coconut in his hands. His fingers are trembling and it’s uncertain on if it’s from the exertion of trying to extract the milk or...something less common.

Dick’s mind floats traitorously back to the cut on his hand and this time the thought comes full circle.

 _No, Jason’s been nothing but an angel on this trip,_ a small voice hisses in his mind, attempting to steer him back to the blissful serenity from a second ago.

Jason must have felt his eyes on him because he looks up, slowly and purposely.

Too late, Dick doesn’t think to cover up the lingering horror in his expression.

Jason’s eyes flash with realization, a combination of something dark and skittish in them. “Wait,” he tries, but his voice is low and raspy.

It’s not entirely threatening, but there’s ambiguity in it. Something about the hostility in Jason’s stance, his glinting knife and the unfamiliar look in his eyes makes Dick’s heart stop in frozen horror and triggers his fight or flight response.

In half a heartbeat, he’s scrambled up onto unsteady legs and put a few feet between them. “Stay back,” he warns, drawing an escrima stick again and holding it in a manner he hopes is threatening. Unlikely, since his stupid arm is trembling uncontrollably. There’s really nothing he can do about it.

Jason bristles but sheathes the knife again into the secret pocket, near the back of his right thigh, before bringing up his palms in the universal sign of peace. “Fuck, Dick. Put down the stick, alright? I’m not going to hurt you.”

It's impossible to tell if Jason is calling him a dick or saying his name.

Nervously, Dick runs his tongue over his lower lip and tastes bitter salt. “I want the truth, Jason. I’ve known you long enough to recognize when you’re lying to me and acting strange. How am I supposed to trust you when I have no idea if anything you’ve been telling me is true?”

He doesn’t relay what he’s actually thinking - doesn’t accuse Jason of cutting him with his knife. But they’re both thinking it, based on the way the other man is trying desperately not to look at Dick’s extended hand which clutches the escrima. The same hand with the incision.

“Dammit,” Jason curses, raw emotion in the word as his jawline tenses in frustration. “Okay, sit down. I’ll tell you the truth, just for the love of God...listen to me this time.”

_This time…?_

Dick is more relieved than he thinks he should be at the opportunity to relax again. He was only standing for a minute or two, perhaps, but the energy sapped from his muscles feels the same as after a night out on patrol.

That concussion and whatever happened before it must have really done a number on him. Still, he grips the escrima firmly, hand ready to activate its current of electricity at any moment.

Jason lifts the coconut from his lap and sets it on the ground next to him. There’s something uncharacteristically vulnerable about the way he begins to twiddle his fingers together, a nervous habit Dick had been pretty sure Jason grew out of long ago.

“You were right when you said I wasn’t telling the truth. Or at least, I didn’t tell you the whole truth.” Jason takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes like he can’t bear to see Dick’s expression. “You napped while I landed the plane on the south beach. You said you’d make sure the jet was safely hidden and promised to send B a confirmation that we’d arrived safely. I decided to go ahead and scope out the base but I swear, I wasn’t going to do anything without you - I just wanted to see what we were up against.”

Dick swallows the lump in his throat, not liking where this is going.

“I...the base wasn’t empty but I swear to God I honestly thought it was. There was no one going in or out, no sounds, no lights. I was looking around one of the old storage rooms, searching for some files that could help us figure out where everyone had gone when someone jumped me from behind. It was so goddamn dark, in the cellar I…” Jason stutters here and something wet begins to shine in his eyes. “I couldn’t see shit. I didn’t know, Dick, please believe me. They were trying to choke me...and I shot them. I didn’t mean to but I shot them. That's why I couldn't let you go in that room. You- you couldn't see what I'd done - I wanted...I just wanted to take it back. I wanted us to be okay again.”

Jason’s voice cracks and his brave facade along with it. Tears fall freely as he buries his face in his hands. He’s silent for a long time, and very still except for the slight tremor in his shoulders.

Dick doesn’t know exactly what to say, what someone would say in a moment like this, but he recognizes that Jason needs him to understand. The escrima drops from his hand, hitting the sand without a noise.

“Jay,” he lowers his voice to a whisper and cautiously moves forward so he can rest his hand on the other man’s quivering shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

It’s the opposite of okay, they’re both well aware. Dick can only imagine what Jason’s going through...his own struggle with Tarantula and Blockbuster is similar in some ways and always fresh on his mind. And while he’s still greatly traumatized by the experience - probably won’t ever be over it - it’s very different from being the one to pull the trigger. Jason’s emotions must be in a tailspin, especially after he’s reformed enough for Bruce to finally trust him. Even Timbo and Damian have finally begun to accept him as one of their own.

So, yes, the only purpose behind muttering an “it’s okay” is for comfort.

“You don’t…” Jason chokes on what sounds like a poorly disguised sob. “You don’t understand, Goldie. Of course you wouldn’t fucking understand... it was an old man. A native islander, maybe. He was probably scared out of his mind and he - he probably didn’t even speak English." His voice is rising several octaves, hitting the point of full blown hysteria.

Dick opens his mouth to reassure him, he doesn’t know what he would have said, but Jason doesn’t give him the opportunity anyway.

“You dropped through the window the second after I shot him. And you wouldn't even listen to my side - just started to yell and pull all this sanctimonious shit out of your ass about how ‘I hadn’t changed.’ You were still fuming by the time we got back to the plane. And, not long after we initiated the launch sequence, you told me you were going to inform Bruce. How could you do that to me? You were going to tell him before I got the chance to explain. I had to do something! I grabbed your wrist.”

A pause.

“You shot your grappling hook, hoping to tangle me with the line. I brought my knife up and you went to block with your free hand but you weren’t holding a weapon.”

At this point, Jason’s become completely unstable. His hands are clenched tightly and he slams one fist into the grass.

Then, as if a switch has been flipped, the anger dissolves and his defenses drop.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Jason whispers, chest heaving as hyperventilation sets in. “I didn’t mean to cut you - I thought you’d evade it like you always do. Why? Why didn’t you move?” His face twists with unmistakable guilt. “Your hook ended up hitting the controls and the plane started going down, but you didn’t try to right us. You just stared at me with this look, like you couldn’t believe I’d actually cut you. I...I couldn’t believe it either. When the alarms started going off, I knew we weren’t far enough in the air to try to land safely.” Everything Jason’s saying comes out quicker, rushed and panicked. “Ididn’tknowwhattodo, you’d become unresponsive. I grabbed you and jumped but somewhere in that fucking ocean… Ilostholdofyou and- and, you must have hit your head against a rock. When I got to you again, you were bleeding so much and I was so scared that you were gonna die. I thought I’d killed the only person who ever thought I was worth their time-”

Dick doesn’t know why he does it. Common sense has apparently been abandoned at this point.

He leans forward and captures Jason’s mouth with his own, absorbing everything the other was going to say. It’s gentle and soft, something Dick knows Jason’s been deprived of, and he’s far too willing to give. White noise and error signs flash through his mind, bright bold letters that screech “ ** _what are you doing?_** ”

Jason sinks into it with all the hunger of someone who’s constantly been cut off from any sources of affection. The throbbing in Dick's head subsides, leaving only calm.

When they finally pull apart, Jason stares at him with wide eyes, like a deer caught in the headlights. His pupils are dilated.

In all aspects, Dick is an expert when it comes to irresistible charm and smooth talking. Which is why the first thing he says is:

“Um,” very intelligently.

“Why did you do that?” Jason asks, voice cracking and for once, too stunned for words. From the way he’s hugging his arms to his chest, it’s clear he’s more than conscious of the consequences for what just happened. But his eyes portray the rest - he wants to know if it meant anything. If it’s worth the ramifications.

Dick reflects on the question, trying to tread carefully through the mental minefield he’s created for himself. Why did he do it? It’s a good question, an innocent one really. There shouldn’t be a wrong answer.

But somehow Dick doesn’t think he could ever answer it correctly.

 _Bruce,_ a traitorous voice whispers unhelpfully in his mind. _What will Bruce think?_

At the thought, Dick’s lungs rebel against him, pushing all the air backwards through his windpipe in an aborted attempt to choke him.

He’s so dead.

No, actually death would be preferable - that plane crash should have killed them.

Jason’s confused blue eyes are still on him, waiting expectantly.

**Author's Note:**

> Nottak, it was an honor writing for your prompt! It really inspired me and thus I've decided to create an entire universe for it! I didn't quite have the time I wanted to make this is long as you deserve so future me will be happily putting out more JayDick Island fics. We'll get to see more of their developing relationship, escapades and...possibly some "good times." But this can be read as a standalone so don't feel the need to read past this one if you don't have the time!
> 
> Two of my good friends betaed this for me, so thanks to Elsa Noelle and Uistol especially since they aren't apart of this fandom. You're the best <3


End file.
